SoIasked,“Isthereataskthatgrantsalotofmerit?”

Tenhoursofrestter,Iwasfullyrestored.IthrewaofVajraFistintotheair—thenfinally,dustyandweary,mademywaybacktothetrainingchamber.

Sesfromolddramasfshedinmymind—righteouscultivatorswieldingpeachwoodswordsandtalismanstoexorciseevil.Now,thecetodoitforrealwashere—andIwasn’tabouttowasteit.

Itriedtotakeitbysurprise,suppressingmyauraasIapproached.Maybeitdidn’tknowIcouldseeit,ormaybeitthoughtIwastoughtodealwith—itjustsme.

Themissionhadnowshiftedfrom“SytheEvilSpirit”tetheGhost.”

.Aswordformedbymeritenergywassharperthanawoodehoughstilbittooweak.Evenamid-stageQiRefiningcultivatorcouldbreakit,soIoincreasemyprofidbuildmoremerit.

Andthere’sonlyooear—doinggooddeeds.

Icouldn’ttakeitanymore.Fearsurgedthroughme—ifIdidn’tmovenow,I’dcolpsefromdread.

Ghosts—remnantsofsapientbeingsthathavedied.Somearebenevolent,somemalevolent.TheirstrengthrangesfromStage1to9,correspondingtotheninemajorcultivationrealms,fromQiRefiningtoGreatAssion.TherearealsoWanderingSouls—weaker,harmlessentitieswithoutcultivation.

But“he”isdifferent.He—myotherself—seesthingsinanht:

“Asamatteroffact,there’soneperfectforyou—syinganevilspirit.Likezombies,they’realsospawnedfromreseanddarkenergy.”

“VajraTeique—se!”

Idon’tlikeunnecessarykilling.Ratherthansyingalldemonsandghostsunderheaven,Iprefercoexistence.Aslongastheydon’tharmothers,I’llsparethem.

Suddenly,aswarmofghostsemerged—itwaslikeagangbinghisthugs.Luckily,theywereallStage-1,andIcouldhahemwithease.

ButitfloatedwhileIran.Anditwasahigherrealmthanme—Icouldn’tcatchup.Ieragittoitsir,dehghostlyenergy.

“Hey!Coward!”Ishouted,thensprierit.

Theweakhavenhttosurvive.

Beforemyqirandry,hehadmestrikinglikeaingboxer,relentlesslyhammeringghostswithVajraFistuntilonlyfiveorsixharmlesswanderingsoulsremained.

ThismissietedaStage-2EvilSpirit.Itsoundedeasyenoughatfirst…untilIgotthere.

Shecheckedthemissionlist.

Iexpectedearlyormid-stage,maybete-stageatworst—butpeak?

Twohourster,Icolpsedheghostden,exhaustedandpanting.EveryhostileStage-1ghostawoStage-2ghostsinsidehadbeenannihited.

Justintime.Myblowstruckbeforeitcouldreajuringitbadly.Theghosthowled,thenfled.

Itsfacewashorrifying—crackedopenwoundsrevealingbosmouthtorntotheearswithjaggedteethexposed,twincrimsonghost-firesburninginitshollowsockets.Itlookedexactlylikeademonthathadjustcrawledoutofhell,radiatinganicymalevolechilledmyspine.

Byelydrained.Iforcedmyselftomovetoanearbyrockbathedinsunlight.Withoutthatlighttowardofftheyinenergy,Iwouldn’thaverecovered.

Tootetopin.Onlybychallengingstrrow.

“WhythehellisitStage2peak!?”Ishoutedindisbelief,staringattheghostfiftymetersahead.